


Rosa 'Victor Nikiforov'

by pllsetskyonice (hma1313)



Series: Giacometti Week 2017 [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dancer Victor, Florist Christophe, Florists, Long-Haired Victor Nikiforov, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 09:52:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11803602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hma1313/pseuds/pllsetskyonice
Summary: Chris grows roses, but none of them are as beautiful as the guy who's just moved in next door.





	Rosa 'Victor Nikiforov'

**Author's Note:**

> For Giacometti Week Day 1: Roses
> 
> This can be [read on tumblr](http://pllsetskyonice.tumblr.com/post/164185709744/rosa-victor-nikiforov) if you prefer.

Chris’ grandparents have a garden that’s full of roses. As soon as summer starts, the garden turns into a sea of pinks and reds and oranges and whites, beautiful blooms that fill the air with the delicate scent of rose. Chris likes to sit on the bench at the end of the garden and spend hours simply looking at them all, the dozens of varieties of a single flower, no two of which are completely the same.

“I grow them for your grandmother,” his grandfather says one afternoon when Chris has spent most of the day going around the garden sniffing each individual rose to see if he can pick out the subtle differences in each scent. “She loves them. Such beautiful flowers, but at the same time, dangerous. You must be careful with them, Christophe. The petals are pretty but the thorns are not.”

* * *

When he isn’t at school, Chris makes the effort to go over and visit his grandparents as much as he can. As the years go by and his grandparents get older, the garden isn’t quite as beautiful as it used to be. Weeds begin to grow in between the roses as his grandfather complains about a stiff back and not being able to move like he used to.

Chris gets there one day to find a number of rose plants potted up by the back door. He looks down the garden and sees gaps where the plants used to be, and it’s like the rose that is his grandparents’ life is wilting and beginning to lose its petals.

“They’re for you,” his grandfather explains when he’s hobbled to answer the door, pointing at the plants with his stick. “It’s time for you to start a garden of your own.”

* * *

His grandparents die within two months of each other. His grandmother, his father says, died of old age. His grandfather, however, died of a broken heart and knowing that he had no one to grow roses for anymore.

Chris is left the roses and his grandfather’s gardening tools. Slowly, he starts transferring the plants to his own garden, which is big enough to home all of his grandparents’ roses and then some. His collection grows and grows and grows some more, Chris even experimenting with breeding roses of his own. He’s fascinated by the pollination process and how he never truly knows how a new rose is going to look until it starts blooming.

He starts a florist shop and quickly becomes known for his work, people flocking from all over the county for bouquets for loved ones and to ask him to do the flowers for their weddings. Although the florists is his work, his roses are his passion, and despite being incredibly similar, the two never really mix.

Victor Nikiforov moves in next door one summer with a dog that Chris thinks just looks like a ball of fluff with legs when he first sees it and a cabinet full of trophies from dance competitions. Chris often sees him when he’s out in his front garden tending to his plants and Victor is taking the dog out for a walk, and they’ll both stop and make small talk for a while before going back to their lives.

“Do you ever think about selling them?” Victor asks one evening when Chris is setting the sprinkler up in the front garden because it’s been a really dry day. “Your roses, I mean. Everyone talks about how beautiful they are. Emil who runs the corner shop said you even breed your own.”

“Sometimes,” Chris says. “And I’ve thought about selling them before, but I’ve always been too busy with the florists to do anything about it.”

“It’s such a shame,” Victor says. “Maybe you could incorporate the two somehow? Those roses deserve to see more than your back garden, Chris.”

“I’ll think about it,” Chris replies, walking over to the wall to turn the tap on. The sprinkler starts, and the dog, which has spent the past few minutes sitting patiently at Victor’s feet, takes the opportunity to run into the water, jumping up and down.

“Makkachin, no!” Victor yells as the dog continues to run through the streams of water. “I’m so sorry –”

“It’s okay,” Chris says, laughing. “It’s okay, Victor.”

* * *

Chris starts by taking a few buckets of roses to his shop, putting some of them in bunches and some of them into bouquets. Everyone loves them, people commenting on how well they last, on the scents, on how much they loved the flowers in general. They’re the talk of the town, his friends even coming into the shop to ask if he really did actually start selling his own roses.

“I’ve been telling you to do this for years,” Emil says one afternoon when he pops in for a few minutes before his shift at the corner shop starts. He joins Chris in the back room where he’s putting together bridal bouquets and button holes for a wedding on Saturday, buckets upon buckets of white flowers and greenery surrounding them. “Yet it takes the arrival of the ex-ballet dancer with a poodle to move in next door and tell you to do it for it to actually happen?”

“It seemed like the right time,” Chris mumbles as he reaches for another carnation.

“Yeah, right,” Emil scoffs. “Right time to try and get into his pants, more like. Whatever, I’m going to be late. See you later!”

As Emil leaves, Chris’ gaze falls onto a bunch of dark pink roses sitting in the corner, which he’s planning to give to Victor as a sign of thanks. This isn’t about trying to get into his pants: it’s so much more than that.

* * *

_Thanks for the roses! They’re beautiful!_

Chris wake up to the text from an unknown number, sent just minutes before his alarm went off.

 _It’s Victor by the way_ another text follows. _Emil gave me your number. I hope that’s okay_

 _It’s more than okay_ Chris texts back, saving the number into his phone as “Victor” followed by a rose emoji. _I’m glad you liked them!_

* * *

Victor soon becomes a regular customer at Chris’ shop. Well, customer is perhaps the wrong word, because he never buys anything, just sits there and chats to Chris for hours on end. They talk about everything and nothing, from the weather to how the shop is doing, from stories about Chris’ grandparents and their garden full of roses to stories about Victor’s career as a ballet dancer – they talk and talk and talk some more, quickly forming a friendship that Chris feels will last a lifetime.

“You know, you’re in here so often I might as well start paying you,” Chris says one afternoon when Victor has managed to help an old lady select a bouquet out for her granddaughter’s birthday and figured out how to work the till. “Have you worked in retail before?”

Victor nods. “I worked in department stores before I started dancing full time,” he says. “Why, you need someone?”

“Yeah, actually,” Chris replies. “My last part time staff member was a moody teenager who snapped at all the customers and spent most of his time snapchatting and texting his boyfriend when I thought I wasn’t looking. I’ve got people that help with the big events and Georgi runs the shop on Mondays and whenever I’m out doing a wedding or whatever, but apart from that, it’s just me. So I could definitely do with someone to help out.”

“Great!” Victor grins. “When do I start?”

* * *

Chris gets to work on Tuesday to find Victor already there, standing outside the shop and tying his hair up, using the glass window at the front as a mirror.

“Morning,” Victor mumbles through a mouthful of bobby pins. “I'm not late, am I?”

“You got here before me,” Chris replies, taking the keys out of his jacket pocket and opening the front door to the shop. The bell tinkles as they walk inside and make their way through to the back, where Chris puts the lights on, the strip light in the back room flickering as it slowly comes to life.

“So, boss, what are we doing today?” Victor asks, jumping up to sit on the big table in the middle of the room, swinging his legs off the edge. “Anything fun?”

“Got an arrangement to do for the top of a coffin that's got to be at the undertaker's by this afternoon,” Chris replies as he checks the calendar that's hung up above the desk in the corner. “Apart from that, there's just the usual bouquets to do for the shop and dealing with customers that come in or ring up.”

“Sounds good,” Victor says. “What can I help with first?”

* * *

Victor soon settles into working at the shop, Chris finding himself having to give Victor less and less instructions by the day. Before Chris knows where he is, three months have gone by, and Victor fits into his life he was always there.

Every so often, Chris gives Victor roses. Cream, green, peach, yellow, pink, white, novelty roses that fade from one colour at the start of the petals to another at the tip. This week, the roses are a salmon colour that Chris leaves on the workbench for Victor to find when he next to goes into the back room for something.

Chris is sitting at the till, flicking through a floristry magazine whilst the shop is empty when he hears a screech coming from the back room, and Victor rushes out, clutching the bouquet of roses, a blush spreading across his cheeks. “I did some Googling the other day,” Victor says, placing the roses down on the counter. “They’re supposed to mean something, right? All the different colours?”

Chris closes his magazine and tucks it in the gap between the till and the wall. “Yes, so they say.”

“And the salmon roses, they’re supposed to mean desire, right?”

Chris looks Victor straight in the eye. “Yes,” he says. “Desire.”

Victor swallows and looks down at the floor, wringing his hands behind his back. After a moment, he regains his composure and looks up at Chris, again looking him straight in the eye. “What would you say if I said I wanted to give you salmon coloured roses too?”

“I would say we’re closing early,” Chris replies with a smirk, leaning forward over the counter towards Victor with his chin in one hand. “Does that sound okay to you?”

“That sounds perfect,” Victor says, crossing the shop to lock the door and flick the sign to ‘closed’. On the way back over to the counter, he reaches up and pulls his hair out of its usual ponytail, running his fingers through it to fluff it out a little. He’s so beautiful, Chris thinks as Victor hops up onto the counter, pulling Chris towards him and pressing their lips together. So beautiful, as Chris deepens the kiss and wraps his arms around Victor’s waist.

So beautiful.

* * *

“Took you long enough,” Emil mutters later that evening when they’re in the corner shop picking up a few things for dinner. They’re holding hands as Chris places the basket down on the counter, and it’s something that Emil spots straight away as he starts scanning their items. “Twenty-two thirty-seven.”

* * *

The shed at the bottom of Chris’ garden is where he breeds new varieties of roses. His and Victor’s three year anniversary is coming up, and he’s been working on something special for a while now. It’s taken a while, but he’s finally got the rose to a place where he’s happy with it.

It’s Victor’s rose.

It’s by the far his favourite rose he’s ever produced. It’s a really pale lilac colour, so pale that if you get it in the right light it looks silver. It took a lot of trial and error to get the rose how he wanted to look, but it’s done now, and it goes beautifully with the engagement ring that’s sitting in its box on the workbench, the lid open and the diamonds glittering in the late afternoon sun streaming in through the window.

Victor is out, closing up the shop and making sure all the arrangements are ready for collection by the undertakers tomorrow. He’ll be back in about an hour or so, and Chris has every minute from now until then planned.

He selects the best twelve roses, removes the thorns, and wraps them up in some of the wrappings he’d snuck home from the florists last week. He’s going to take the rest of the roses apart so he’s got just their petals left and spread them across the carpet in a trail leading up to their bedroom, where Chris is going to be waiting with the engagement ring.

Once he’s finished in the shed, he takes what he needs back over the house and starts setting up everything there, putting some romantic music on the sound system and preparing a few bits for their dinner. At quarter to six, Chris gets a text from Victor that reads _Be home in fifteen minutes! Xx_ and he starts scattering the rose petals from the front door to the bedroom and lighting a few candles along the way. He leaves the bouquet of roses at the top of stairs and then goes through to the bedroom with the ring box held tightly in his hand, and waits.

He faintly hears the clicking of the lock in the front door and a gasp. “Chris?” Victor calls. “Chris?”

He hears Victor starting to walk along the hall and up the stairs, his steps quickening once he’s at the top of the stairs and has picked up the bouquet of roses. “Chris?” Victor calls out again as he nears the bedroom door. Chris keeps quiet and lowers himself onto one knee so he’s ready for when Victor opens the door. He sees the door handle move down and he takes a deep breath as the door starts to open.

“Oh my god, Chris,” Victor says once the door is fully open and he can see Chris there at the foot of the bed down on one knee with the ring box held out in front of him. Tears start to well in Victor’s eyes, and he brushes them away with the hand that’s not holding onto the bunch of roses. “Chris –”

“Victor, will you marry me?” Chris asks, trying to keep his voice even, but it doesn’t really work because he’s feeling so many different emotions right now and even though Victor’s crying it seems like they’re happy tears. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes!” Victor says, running forward towards Chris, jumping into his arms. “Oh my god, yes, I’ll marry you!”

They’re both crying as Chris slips the ring onto Victor’s finger. Although he doubts Victor has noticed, the ring has roses engraved on the inside of it, a small touch that means a whole lot more to Chris. He’s been saving for the ring for ages, from the coppers that accumulate in loose change to clients from weddings handing him a wad of cash and telling him to ‘keep the change’. It’s perfect, and it looks even more perfect now that it’s on Victor’s finger.

“The roses,” Victor says after the ring is on his finger, “what variety are they? I’ve never seen them before. They’re so beautiful.”

“They’re yours,” Chris replies. At the confused look on Victor’s face, he adds, “They’re a new variety. I’ve been perfecting it for years now, and I finally got there. I bred them for you, Victor.”

“Me?” Victor asks, tears welling in his eyes again. “Really? What are they called?”

“ _Rosa ‘Victor Nikiforov’_.”

Victor is crying again, tears splashing onto the bunch of roses he’s holding, the petals looking like they’re covered in early morning dew. “Oh my god, Chris,” he says. “I love them so much. I love you, Chris, I love you I love you I love you –”

“I love you too, Victor,” Chris says, pulling Victor into a hug, being careful not to damage the roses. “I love you too.”

* * *

At their wedding, Victor’s roses are in the flower arrangements, the bouquets, the button holes and the centre pieces for the tables. Everyone comments on them, how beautiful they are, and several people ask if they’re ever going to be available to buy.

“Sorry,” Chris tells them. “This one is just for us.”

 _Rosa ‘Victor Nikiforov’_ lives on in its own special way. The rose from Chris’ button hole is pressed and put in their wedding album, where it stays, preserved for many years to come.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr](http://pllsetskyonice.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/pllsetskyonice)


End file.
